


You Anoint My Head; My Cup Overflows

by butteredflame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Canon Compliant, Episode: s11e03 The Bad Seed, Episode: s12e19 The Future, Episode: s13e15 A Most Holy Man, Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, Intimacy, M/M, Michael!Dean, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-07-29 11:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butteredflame/pseuds/butteredflame
Summary: Speaking of sublimation…Dean has noticed that he and Cas are really good at turning their chemistry into something more socially acceptable, especially in front of others. But in the moments when they’re safe from harm and utterly alone, their closeness fills him up and spills over. He can’t control it. (But does he even want to?)--Episode codas that just make sense to me, because Destiel has been canon for a while. Title taken from Psalm 23.





	1. Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 11x03--after Rowena's attack dog spell

 

_The center leads to love._

_Soul opens the creation core._

_Hold onto your particular pain._

_That too can take you to God._

\--Rumi

 

Dean wanted Cas and Sam to stop looking at him, so he spent two days in his room.

On the third day, his face had swollen up so much he could barely hum to himself. He was sitting at his desk, toggling through Google Alerts for possible cases, when a knock sounded at his door. He rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t respond. A beat later, the door opened and he frowned, knowing Castiel had let himself in. He needed to pile on the penance, so he kept his back to the angel.

“Going somewhere?”

Castiel sighed. “No.”

“Then how can I help you?”

Dean winced as his voice grated up his throat. Hoping Cas hadn’t seen, he peaked over his shoulder. Castiel was a rough-spun, irritated vision, frowning at the hunter’s sarcasm and brokenness. Dean lowered his eyes.

“I gotta make up for how I hurt you,” he said. “This is the only way I know how.”

“I don’t think it’s wise,” the angel hedged. “But I accept it. Much has happened between us—”

“Oh, come on. Don’t sugarcoat it. I spent the last two years failing you, Cas! I kicked you out and left you to hunt Metatron on your own. The Mark of Cain turned me into a Knight of Hell and I beat you so bad you almost died—I’ve _hurt_ you—”

“And I have forgiven you, Dean.”

Dean had started to shake his head. He just didn’t understand. Cas crossed the room and swiveled his chair around for Dean to face him. As Dean swallowed his longing, Castiel eyed him vulnerably.

“You have to forgive yourself, Dean. Just how I am…working on forgiving myself for what I did to you under Rowena’s attack dog spell. I can’t do it for you.”

“Cas…”

“But if you think this is the way to get there…” The angel unveiled a first aid kit from the lapels of his coat. Dean’s brows rose. “I will make up for hurting _you_ , the only way you'll let me.”

And suddenly Dean was blushing, “Cas, buddy, you don’t need to do that.”

“Let me _._ ” Castiel smiled, just a bit. “Come on, I need you to get comfortable.”

He gave a chaste laugh.  “Alright, alright.”

Dean moved to his bed, swung his legs up and scooted up to the headboard. Holding his breath, he turned halfway onto his side as Cas rounded the bed.

“May I?”

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Please.”

He was aching everywhere. Back, chest, ribs and jaw; left eye throbbing so bad on day three that he was certain it was a black eye. The bed dipped with Cas’s added weight, and with a trembling palm, Dean pressed the muscle relaxing bandages Cas had given him to his bruised jaw and back, wincing. No matter how many times he’d been stitched back together, the pain never got old. But he was used to it, so he felt it wane in degrees as he watched Cas rinse, treat, and bandage the few places skin had split under his knuckles…

Dean paused. _Oh._ Cas was the one who did this, and he would be the one to fix it.

He started at the realization, just as Cas was laying the bandage across his ribs and pressing it taut. He met Dean’s eyes, and he seemed to know what he was thinking, but he was resigned to lingering guilt. Dean didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to say it was okay.

Sometimes, Cas was gentle with him, especially when he was hurt. Dean wasn’t used to it but he’d welcomed it with increasing frequency, because for a while now, they’d known their relationship _needed_ more touch and they’d wisely welcomed it.

Armed with this, he hooked his palm into the crease of Cas’s elbow and enjoyed the angel’s startled, blooming smile. Then he curled his palm underside to cup the joint, supporting him as he was being supported. Between a human and an angel, the gesture should have been silly. But Cas’s eyes glowed and as he breathed, the hunter breathed with him.

It had been a long time since Dean felt worthy of being on Castiel’s side. Now, he was remembering. There was love between them. Of what kind, he didn’t know. The way his best friend’s fingers curled into the bandage, suspended at Dean’s side, made him think he didn’t know either. Granted, it had been years since a month went by that Dean hadn’t wished to kiss him. But sometimes not even doing so was exciting. In these rare moments when past and future were resolved and they were on the same page, he knew why Chuck— _God_ —put them together. If Castiel was lighting in a bottle, Dean was a bowl, overflowing with their closeness.

The hush broke, when a beat later, Cas picked up the medical tape. “I’ll just finish this,” he said, chagrined.

Dean smiled bemusedly. “Okay.”

Afraid he would only reach out more, Dean kept his hands to his side and gazed at the tools spread on the bedspread near his feet. Cas, too, kept his eyes down until he finished. Then frowning almost thoughtfully, his hand skirted to Dean’s and his fingers circled around the hunter’s wrist. Dean swallowed at the vital pressure, stunned to recall the one other time Cas had been so _close._ Their roles had been reversed, then, and Cas’s blood was on his hands as he’d said, _Please_. Now, Castiel peered into him again with as much earnestness.

“I will always accept you, Dean. I wouldn’t be alive otherwise—and neither would you.”

Dean felt as wrecked as he looked. Cas finished packing the first aid kit then left quickly, as if escaping Dean’s stunned silence. When the door closed, Dean scoffed painfully. But he took Cas’s broader meaning to heart.

He sat up fully to get comfortable against the headboard and took deep breaths, willing his mind to follow the ease of his body’s aches. He would try to forgive himself. He would do this for Cas. He would do this for himself. By the time he closed his eyes, he was already falling asleep to the soft pulse of gratitude ebbing away his guilt and shame… With one last thought.

Cas would find a way to reach Metatron—probably not by Dean’s side. But he’d stay into next morning. 

For the moment, that was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are drabble-style chapters that chronologically span S11 to S14 speculation, and more importantly, are set to Rumi poems from [this](https://www.amazon.com/Rumi-Book-Poems-Ecstasy-Longing-ebook/dp/B000Y2R0G6) book. Has that been done before? Probably not. But it’s not surprising to find poems that mirror our characters’ journey. 
> 
> Regular updates will come, so be on the look out if you liked this one!


	2. Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During 12x19--on the search for Kelly Kline

 

You wreck my shop and my house and now my heart,

But how can I run from what gives me life?

I’m weary of personal worrying, in love

With the art of madness! Tear open my shame

And show the mystery. How much longer

Do I have to fret with self-restraint and fear?

Friends, this is how it is: we are fringe

Sewn inside the lining of a robe. We’re

The lame deer in his paws. Consider

What choices we have!

\--Rumi

 

 

Between him and Cas, Dean wasn’t sure who hated it more when he was angry. But he wasn’t angry. He was worried _,_ and he would explain the distinction to Cas as many times as it took for him to understand. Dean took comfort that had Cas retired to his bedroom for the afternoon, so he went into the kitchen and got his damn beer, alright. And since Sam had erased his _Beautiful Mind_ research from the war room table, Dean had plenty of space to put his feet up as he researched for a way not to harm Kelly Kline or her unborn child. Barring the apocalyptic circumstance, he was in a pretty good spot, which only got better when Sam gave a shout.

“Dean!” he said brightly. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out!”

Soon, Dean’s confusion turned to understanding. They could use the same extraction spell they’d use to get Gadreel out of Sam, on Kelly’s kid, without harming either of them. Sam was unsure if it would work, but after zero wins in so long, Dean was certain.

“This is it, Sammy.”

And so, he forgot to be ashamed. He ran to fetch Cas from his room and tell him of the good news; maybe grab an early happy hour then head on the road to track down Dagon and rescue Kelly. But when Dean got there and pushed the door in, number 11 was left empty and untouched, as if the angel had never been there.

 _But no_. He hadn’t made the whole thing up. If Cas’s earlier, misguided return of his Zeppelin mixtape had been any proof, it was that Cas _had_ been there. Sure, for only seven hours, but if he hadn’t been in the Bunker with them on that cool March morning, Dean likely would have lost it worse down the line. _No_. Castiel had been in his home, with the Winchesters _._ And he had remained, until he didn’t.  

Dean was worried. That was all.

Relief came when, three hours later, they tracked the Continental to a hotel on Route 81 in cowboy country, Nebraska. Considering Team Free Will’s terrible luck, he’d been so worried Cas had gotten into trouble with Dagon and was tied up somewhere, that he bumped into a very pregnant Kelly rounding the corner with a small bucket of ice, and paused hard. He didn’t even think. He bounded into the motel room and shut the door when he saw Cas turning around with an intent frown, and Dean knew he had waited for him.

Next thing he knew, his hands were wrapped around the lapels of Cas’s trench coat and he was pushing him backwards into the motel room. Castiel let himself be tugged and pulled, stare hard but determined under Dean’s shock and will. It turned Dean on, and he pursed his lips, hissed when Cas’s back finally met a wall yards from the door. Millions of years passed between them as Cas met his eyes. Yet ut was clear he would rather let himself receive the man’s ire than release his brunt of responsibility for the havoc Lucifer had caused. Dean saw that the angel had to do this. The realization had him sagging into himself, bones sinking with resolve. _You feel old and I do, too,_ he wanted to tell him. Even so, his eyes caught Cas’s features with fondness, like muscle memory, and Cas gazed back, didn’t move, never moves…

Dean was so used to doing nothing that the next thing he knew, Sam was pushing through the door and Cas stood far away against the wall—accosted, beautifully wrecked, as if suddenly nourished.

_Holy fuck._

Dean lowered his eyes and choked down his anger, swallowed his longing. If that’s how it was between them, after what Lucifer did to him, he couldn’t raise his hands against Castiel again. Never again.

Abruptly, their voices rose in heated arguments. Kelly was vehement about staying with Cas, doing what he wanted to do, but Dean shut that down quick and told them they could not survive being hunted down by Dagon and half of Hell without help, because apparently that’s what they needed to remember. _Goddamit._ They checked out of the motel room and as they neared the Impala, Sam pulled Dean aside.

 _“_ What are we gonna do with them?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his jaw. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the pair. He felt exposed in the street, like any low-level demon could put the drop on them. As if reading his mind, Cas barked his name—“ _Dean!_ ”—and he threw Baby’s keys to him with a lingering softness that only his hands remembered. He glanced past Sam’s ridiculous shoulders just to see the angel handle the car with familiarity, a gentle hand ushering Kelly into the backseat.

“ _Dean_.”

He snapped his eyes back to his brother’s, huffing. “How about Jody’s? She can at least _help._ ”

Sam wasn’t so sure. With Kelly attached to Cas’s hip, they were a flight risk, regardless. Maybe they just needed to work with Cas and Kelly. The thought made his head ache, but even in the rushing panic of things, clarity was coming. Dean was beginning to understand that Cas felt responsible for Lucifer’s return and the devil’s child in her womb. Cas _had_ to do this. But why? 

When the car suddenly zipped off with Kelly in the driver’s seat, he looked on with his brows raised. He understood, now.

_They’re friends._

 

 

__________

 

 

They were _tired_ and the day hadn’t even finished.

They had tracked the Impala thirty miles north and arrived at dusk. A brisk wind had picked up after the sun’s descent, aggravating old hunter bones and injuries that had never fully healed. Even Sam’s groan set his teeth on edge.

“You’re right,” the younger Winchester said, as he shut the door of their swiped ’72 Ford pickup. “What’s up with Cas?!”

Dean exited the truck and rested his hands on the roof, frowning mildly at him. But the way Sam’s eyes quirked unsympathetically, made Dean’s frown deepen.

“I don’t like it either, Sam. But Cas has had a hard couple of years.” The words stuck in his throat. “He needs a win so bad, he can’t see straight.”

Sam huffed and stared off as if considering. “Are you sure they’re here?”

“S’wat the map says,” Dean replied after a sigh, glancing at the app on his phone. Sam nodded to him. After arming themselves with their knives and the Colt, they trekked onto the park grounds. Five minutes later, they spotted Cas and Kelly in a playground. Their backs were to the Winchesters and they were facing a man in grey regalia, standing before a sandbox.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He exchanged panicked glances with Sam that told him they both knew Kelly planned to sacrifice herself—something they had never wanted for her. As they neared the gate of Heaven the angels had formed in the sandbox, Dean withdrew the Colt and Sam, his angel blade—just before Dagon popped in with a blade, spearing the angel guarding the gate, and Cas pulled Kelly behind him. Dean sprang into action, aiming two shots that the ancient demon had dodged, and Sam drew up on her but she quickly had him on his back, and Dean took another shot that missed. As he deflected her blows, he could hear Kelly pleading with Cas to do something. But Cas’s mojo hadn’t been the same since the angels fell, and the fact that he could not defend her against Dagon was how they’d ended up there.

Dean was losing the fight, bruises already forming in familiar places. He mourned the loss of the Colt in Dagon’s blazing hands as much as he mourned the loss of Cas’s self-assurance—a desperate, “ _No!_ ” rising in the air. Dean was on the ground. Sam was coming-to, and Dean crawled to him, got him seated and started checking for injuries. When they both found themselves to be okay, Cas had pulled away from Kelly and met Dagon’s executing blow with that of his own—causing a _crack_ to resound through the park grounds. Dean blinked owlishly when Dagon combusted where Cas had hold of her arm, then shielded his eyes from the light. When it had departed, the vessel was burnt to ash and Dagon was dead.

And Cas was smiling vindictively.

Dean’s concern rose from his throat. “Cas?”

He had returned to Kelly, who was watching Castiel with hope. “I’ve seen good. I’ve seen paradise. This child will take us there. He’ll protect us all. Sam, Dean, you’ll see this.” He smiled with so much joy it had Dean squinting. “I have faith.”

Kelly’s hand curled around Cas’s arm, the other holding her coat over her belly—and in the next second they had popped off to God knows where. Dean searched so thoroughly in those first few moments, he damn near gave himself whiplash. But as the quiet settled, so did the truth of Castiel’s absence.  

Dean hadn’t felt this pain in many, many months.  

How, then, could that have been his angel?

 

 

___________

 

 

Well, that’s just where he went wrong—wasn’t it? In the moment he’d convinced himself otherwise, but Castiel was not his, and he was never gonna be his. What frightened Dean into next morning, was that he hadn’t recognized him. Coffee in hand, he was turning these thoughts over in his mind, and was meaning to tell Sam this when he found him in the war room with the same angel lore that had reminded him of the grace extraction spell.

“We back to Plan A?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Sam huffed, amused. “I just have to gather materials for the spell. And we have to find Kelly before the baby’s born. And it has to work.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Dean sat himself on the edge of the table. “Well, it’s the only shot we got. I don’t even know if we should save the kid at this point.”

“Dean.”

“No,” he refuted. “I get why Cas is so hellbent on saving them—but that guy back there wasn’t him.”

Sam frowned in disagreement. “Aside from the…burst of power…seemed like Cas to me. I would say he was in his right mind.”

“No,” Dean repeated. “After he killed Dagon, I looked at him, and I did not recognize the man looking back at me.”  

Sam threw a bitchface that plainly said, _That’s up to you to figure out on your own, Dean._

But Dean wouldn’t have it. “Cas could be brainwashed, _again!”_ he snapped. “That’s _our_ problem!”

Sam looked at him uncertainly.

“And if that was Cas juiced up on evil baby powers, who’s to say Kelly is safe with him after all?”

Sam paused, then sighed. “You’re right.”

Dean leaned back with relief and took a gulp of his coffee. Swung a leg to dislodge his thoughts. Between the Darkness and his and Sam’s time locked up in a Max Penna, things had changed when he wasn’t really looking. Cas had had a hard few years. His family—those angel dicks—manipulated him left and right. Lucifer had done the worst job, and it seemed his unborn child was well on their way to following his path. Even Dean had failed him a few times. Thinking about it broke his heart.

Sometimes he got the feeling Cas didn’t know where to go or how to be there—by which he meant the Bunker. _He’s supposed to know it as his home._ But he didn’t, did he? (Dean thought of the mixtape again.) Understandably, he let Lucifer back out of the cage and so, he needed to rectify all that sonofabitch’s evildoing. _Sure._ But to take the full weight was unreasonable. For that reason, Dean needed to back off and support him as he wished. He needed to respect his boundaries. He needed to honor him—now more than ever.

However, the older Winchester had gone too quiet.  

“Dean?”

He blinked and met Sam’s concerned eyes.

“I can’t put my _hands_ on him again. I can’t hurt him again.” Not when just a moment of their closeness had made Cas glow so much Dean couldn’t even tuck it behind his heart, but inside of it. Dean needed to be good to him. But how could he, if the angel’s mind had been hijacked from something in the goddamn womb? In a huff, the breath came out of him and Dean held his knuckles to his brow. Sam rounded the table and patted his shoulder with his giant paw, squeezing gently. “I can’t do that again, Sam.”

“Alright. Alright...” Sam sighed deeply. “I get it, Dean. I do. But Cas isn’t small change. He’s an _angel._ When push comes to shove, he’s always willing to sacrifice himself if he goes dark.”

“…But I don’t want that either.”

Sam sighed again. “Then let’s hope you won’t have to worry about it.”

He clapped him on the back, then returned to his seat and the book. Dean rolled his eyes at his unhelpfulness. But after a breath, he tried to follow his brother’s advice. He rotated a sore shoulder on the way to his room, meaning to return with his laptop to research for a possible case. But he only found himself walking past room 11 and paused with his hand on the doorknob, prayers to Castiel rotating familiarly in his mind.

Realizing his faith stood, Dean stopped. 

Whatever came to pass...maybe they would meet it.

_Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun! Drop a comment or kudos if you liked! More to come soon.
> 
> Much love <3


	3. Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post 13x15-following "A Most Holy Man" the next day

 

There’s a strange frenzy in my head,

Of birds flying,

Each particle circulating on its own.

Is the one I love everywhere?

\--Rumi

 

 

When Dean woke that morning, he opened his eyes to his pitch-black room, and the darkness swallowed his continuing thoughts of last night whole. He and Sam had talked about ridding the world of all bad, and Dean honestly hadn’t surprised himself when he said he had faith. But now he woke feeling fragile, like the parts he preferred to keep hidden had been scrubbed sparklingly clean.  

What  _was_ that? He blinked and realized it was around his head—and it was _buzzing_. As soon as that came to his awareness, he felt his heart fluttering.

After a beat, he returned to his pillow, tipping his head back in wonder. 

It felt  _good._

The sense of well-being eventually faded, but it left a lasting impression on Dean well into breakfast. Sam, however, watched him happily cook with a troubled frown; then he stepped out as soon as they were finished, without any details. Dean understood. After their conversation last night, things were weighing heavily on his brother’s mind. He didn’t dare begrudge Sam the opportunity to sort things out. 

Sitting at the kitchen table by himself, he frowned thoughtfully. Donatello was also absent from the bunker, busy looking for a chicken wing spot to fuel his brain to decipher the demon tablet. It was dangerous for him to be alone out there, but Dean was strangely certain Ketch would keep an eye on him. For the first time in—maybe a month, since before Cas returned from the Empty, alive and whole—Dean was alone in the bunker. The silence would have been lovely, except that he really missed Castiel that morning. After grumbling into his second cup of coffee for half an hour, he picked himself up and lumbered to his room. Before he reached, however, Cas suddenly appeared at the second bend and startled him.

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean dragged his hand down his face, trying to dissolve the awe that was bubbling inside of him. Eyes tracing the angel, he eventually murmured, “Good morning.”

Cas frowned. “Did something happen?” 

“No—” He paused, trying to adjust to the sudden spark that was  _Cas_. After thinking better of his urge to return to the kitchen, since the angel didn’t eat, he gestured for him to follow him down the hall. “Walk with me. I want to show you something.”

Cas followed, and Dean cherished the opportunity to walk side by side with him. His head was honestly still spinning from the past six months, in which an unborn Jack Kline opened a rift to a world Michael had decimated. Fully grown at a year old, Jack got stuck there, Mom somehow with him. So, Cas had been flying around the world for a few weeks now, searching for the second ingredient to the spell to open another rift and save them. Since Gabriel was MIA, their Michael and Raphael were dead, and Lucifer  _sucked,_ archangel grace was unsurprisingly hard to find. A fruit from the tree of life, too, since Cas had traveled to Syria to find the tree and ended up dodging bullets half the time. Dean and his brother obtained the blood of a most holy man, however, so he was hoping they’d find the Seal of Solomon without much issue.

Glancing at his best friend, he guessed, “Nothing on the tree of life, then?” 

“Not yet,” Cas sighed. “It’s hard to find…below the rubble, you know. I just hope the world community helps Syria.”

Dean shook his head, doubting that would happen. It was a proxy war. When it was finally over, who was going to take responsibility? 

“We’ll see. But I’m glad you’re here. You gotta take a break once in a while, Cas. I don’t want to see you burn yourself out.”

Years ago, Cas would have responded crossly that he didn’t need rest. Now, however, he nodded. “Well, I—I appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” Dean winked. “Besides, last night me and Sammy came back from Seattle with a win. We got mixed up, trying to locate St. Peter’s skull for…too many rich assholes, in exchange for the blood of a saint. Met this Italian priest, who the Pope deemed as a most holy man. After we helped him recover the relic,  _padre_ was kind enough to give us some of his blood.”

Cas listened intently. When Dean finished, he stopped him, eyes wide. Dean smiled, and Cas seemed to bloom, squeezing his arm in the way that had become so familiar. Brief moments passed as they continued down the hall. The tension was starting to leave Cas’s face, and Dean caught traces of fondness around his eyes. 

“I am glad that worked out, Dean.”

“Me too.” He had to say it again. “It’s nice to have you home, pal.” 

Cas only squeezed him again, letting Dean lean into him a little, until they turned into the stairwell in the east wing. 

“Now, don’t be surprised about this.”

He squinted earnestly. “What do you want to show me?”

“A room.”

“A room?” Cas frowned doubtfully, with an edge of playfulness. Appreciating his effort to go along with it, Dean opened the door to the basement for him and grinned when Cas shook his head at him. “No offense Dean, but I can’t focus on much else if it doesn’t help with our plan to open a rift.”

“Okay first, you meant offense. And second, I don’t care what you say. You’re gonna like it.”

He led Cas to room B7, a large storage room far from the main storage, the computer, and the vehicle pool. This room was so tucked into the corner, it had been overlooked their first two years in the bunker. But since Cas had returned from the dead, Dean had started making time for important things, like nurturing his curiosity. And well, when he saw this anonymous, dust-covered storage room, he could only think of what it could be. Now he was just itching to put the room together. Dean put his hand on the doorknob. Already seeing Cas’s rejection, he shook his head.

“Hold on, just wait.”  

“I’m as old as the earth, Dean. I know waiting.”

Dean paused, stuck on what he said—moreover, what Cas hadn’t said. Ironically, his quip had been dry and sincere, yet something in his significance made Dean hear,  _I waited for you._ Dean’s brows drew up, and he was painfully aware of how stupid he must have looked.Whatwas he to do, though, when all of Cas’s four billion years of awareness were willingly considering what lied beyond this door, at the hunter’s behest? Dean was flushing again. It bloomed at his ears as he turned his head away.

“I’m saying, keep an open mind, buddy. I want you to like it.”

“Well, if it’s that important to you… Of course.”

So, Dean pushed the door open and Cas walked in, squinting as he took in the dismal setting. 

“Are you sure you’d want to spend a lot of time in a storage room?”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean grinned. “You have no idea. It’s about the  _vision_.”

 

__________

 

 

Dean didn’t always feel this way about…feeling this way.

When he first met Castiel, much of the time Dean didn’t know up or down around the angel.  At first, he chalked it up to the fact that Cas was  _eternal_ , that he had the power to save his soul from the pit and breathe life back into his body. But then he met the others, and he quickly realized Cas was special. After thwarting a handful of apocalypses with Team Free Will, the way people—angels, demons, gods, djinn—talked about Cas now, it was clear they knew the deal, too.

Cas could move worlds. But for Dean…Castiel just moved  _him_.

He finally realized that the second time Cas died, because he spent a year wading in depression with the angel’s damn trench coat hitching a ride in Baby’s trunk. He couldn’t let him go, needed him. Yet, he didn’t know Cas needed him, too, until Sam and Dean had later found the bunker and the angels fell. Dean had spent so long trying to keep the flight-risk angel around that when Cas needed to stay, Dean was blindsided. Instead, creepy Gadreel had possessed Sam and Dean let him twist his arm about having Cas around, had booted him out to save Sam.

After that first failure, Dean eventually forced himself to stop being so insecure about his relationship with Cas, to fucking open up a little. And Chuck help him, Cas took it, took all he had to give, even after the Mark of Cain had corrupted his soul. Even after the Darkness had used Dean as a bargaining chip to end all of creation. Even after the possibility of Jack’s birth threatened humanity and Lucifer  _killed_ the other angel. Cas had vowed again and again to stick with Dean until the end. Dean had spent months ruminating on what this was. Now, small reminders never failed to blow his mind.

 _Cas loves me._  Dean couldn’t call it blasphemous. Not anymore, when God was truly absent and angels were dicks and it was  _Cas_. Dean started to accept what was given and in fact, their relationship was so fragile that when they were on the upswing, he found himself praying to God for the wisdom to not fuck it up.

Ironically, the big stuff could be managed. It was the small stuff that slipped his grip: the fact that Dean couldn’t express his constantly blooming affection around others. Not with Sam, Jack, Mom, Charlie, Rowena, not even Kevin or Garth. Not one person who’d ever loved him or even those who’d never know the Winchester name. No one. When they were around family and Cas so much as drew near, Dean felt he would shake out of his skin and suddenly become more than just himself _._

How could that passion, that intimacy be safe in anyone else’s witness? 

So, they hadn’t figured that out, yet. For the time being, they were better at being alone. And  _that_  felt like freedom and relief, like coming up for air.

 

__________

 

 

Two hours later, they’d cleared the basement. After moving the archival materials to the library to be sorted later and dumping miscellaneous, dated items, they kept the two armchairs that were found there, moved in the foosball table that Dean had proactively purchased for this purpose, and grabbed a TV he’d bought years ago but never put in his bedroom. He spent a few minutes rigging it up like a sailor did with a ship. And when it was finally done, Blue Ray player attached and all, he triumphantly turned to where Cas was sitting in an armchair. His gaze was so fond it took the breath from Dean’s lungs, and a  _whoosh_  escaped where he’d meant to say, “Good right?”

At that moment, Cas turned shy, lowering his eyes. “Is it done, then?”

“Yeah,” Dean blinked. “I mean, the room’s not done yet. There are a few more things to add. I’m gonna put a bar over there. I want to keep a few kegs in here too—think I’ll attach them to the ceiling for storage. And we need some extra light in here. A neon sign or two could bring it together.” He looked to the floor. “Maybe a carpet, too, for winter.”

“You’re not doing all of that today,” Cas reproached, and Dean’s ears perked at the bass in his voice. “Let’s watch something.”

“What?” Dean gaped, couldn’t help it. “I usually have to twist your arm, man. You’re telling me you have the time?”

“Yes,” he said, lips pursed at the tease. His mouth worked, perhaps to say something more, but he couldn’t get it out. Dean wasn’t going to ask any questions. 

“Well Sam’s not gonna be back for a while. He’s working things out, like I said.”

“Right. And Donatello’s working on the demon tablet.” Cas perked up. “So, it’s you and me.” 

Dean turned his smile down toward the TV, tapping it once, already planning the cave’s future; of how much time he’d get to spend with Cas there, that no one else would get to touch it—at least for a while. “I’m honored to break it in with you, buddy. I think I’m gonna call it the Dean Cave.”

There was a beat, and then Cas snorted affectionately. “ _Dean._ Of course, you will.”

 

 

__________

 

 

As difficult as it was for him to express his feelings for Cas around other people, it gave Dean peace of mind when the angel popped by sometimes, regardless of who was home. Half the time they ended up in a case within thirty-six hours, so it was a fleeting joy. But Dean grew to be thankful for every moment with him. Now those moments spanned case after case, week after week, year after year. A sense of permanence appeared when they were together, like a spirit between them. Something quiet that had its own life and was just _more._  

Typically, when no one was dying and Dean and Cas remembered that  _not everything_ was their responsibility, they made the time to be alone. On those days, they would go for beer runs before Sammy got home to the bunker. Dean would find every reason to touch him—if on a bad day, every reason not to—and Cas would respond in deep mutters and even once, an elbow to the gut. If they were on the road, sometimes they would stop at a happy hour nearby and Dean would sneak glances at his hands as Cas smiled at him, all soft and open and real. And when Dean stood over a urinal after the third beer, he’d close his eyes and once again pray to Godnot to end their peace, not to let him fuck it up.

But not today. Dean had learned from that. He wouldn’t entice Cas with something outside of himself, outside of what was his to give. Dean already had enough to give. And for Cas, for now, his intention to be around was what he could offer Dean.

It would never stop being funny that once Dean let go a little, Cas started to come to him, started to stay.

Really, he should have expected it.

 

__________

  


He vehemently remembered Cas not liking  _Tombstone_. No need to make the angel go through it again.

And he really wasn’t going to, but Cas had literally stayed his hand, said he wanted to watch it again, with a soft significance that made Dean find it and press play quickly. Within minutes, Earp and Doc appeared and Dean lost his marbles.  _Damn, even though Val Kilmer is sick with TB the whole time, he’s cute._ He looked a lot like Cas, to be honest, and he had the best lines, the softest of which still resonated in Dean’s ears when he thought of Cas in a cowboy hat outside of Dodge City.  _I’m your Huckleberry._ The line hadn’t been delivered like that, all throaty and vulnerable—wasn’t meant for a lover, but Dean had heard Cas’s devotion clearly.  

The memory made him bashful. He shook his head to himself throughout the first half of the film, even had to cover his face once or twice. Cas pulled his hands away both times, eyes chuckling at him. The third time, he was curled into the armchair, long legs and all, hands still feeling Cas’s touch as they lowered from his face. As his shyness waned, he saw that Cas didn’t pull back, not an inch, and he suddenly sensed the angel wanted him close. His eyes traced the nakedness of his features, his own softening because he remembered that he wasn’t alone. Cas also knew how it felt to love someone so dissimilar to himself.

If he was a different man, in the car he would have turned to Cas and laughed,  _You telling me you love me?_ If he was a different man, now he would solemnly say,  _I love you too, Cas_. But last Dean checked, his story was too bogged down by Heaven, Hell and earth to change.

That would have remained too, if Cas had not started to frown in tandem with him, squinting.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean blinked once, twice, then continuously, distracted by the buzz of butterflies flying around his head. It had returned—that glowing sense of well-being he’d woken with that morning.

“Cas, do you see fairies around me?”

“Are you seeing things?”

“No.” Dean was  _smiling_. “Don’t you—don’t you hear that?”

“What?” He paused. “The buzzing?”

Dean’s heart truly seemed to stop. He turned a wicked grin onto the angel, earning Cas’s startling smile, so warm and human that Dean realized he wanted more than to cocoon their relationship in the quiet. Even there, their fragile state didn’t feel safe. Not when Dean still struggled to find the words to make him stay for good, to stop all the hunting and saving of the world, to commit to him. Dean  _needed_ this _,_ so he needed to say it, needed to change his story.

“If I could make you stay forever, I would. I swear to God, Cas, I would.”

By the crease of the angel’s brow, he knew Cas understood. Yet he was silent long enough that Dean started to worry. Dean tugged his sleeve and earned Cas’s naked, somber gaze.

“I accept what  _we_  are but…don’t tell me that.”

His voice was soft and earnest, and he turned his face away with a frown that tugged at his eyes. Dean’s heart pained him. He couldn’t guess Cas’s reasons, didn’t want to, so he asked, “Why not?”

“Because it  _can’t_  be, right?” Dean’s heart fell to his stomach, and he stared at the side of Cas's face, down the slope of his nose, to the reserved set of his jaw. “If we were all perfect, I would stay, Dean. I would do it right. I would have been here long ago.”

“I know," Dean nodded, "I know. But you deserve for everyone to know howmuch you’re  _loved_ , Cas.”

It was the closest he ever came to saying it out loud, and when it happened it left his lungs in another  _whoosh,_ like it came from the deepest parts of himself. Dean’s headspace was still buzzing, so maybe it had. But suddenly, a series of gunshots went off and drew their attention to the TV, long enough that when they returned to each other, they were surprised by what they had shared. Dean held his breath, feeling fragile and sacred under his gaze.

“I mean it,” he said. “I want you with me until the end. Even if it couldn’t  _be_  until in the end, I would  _wait_ for it—”

It wasn’t pain that stopped his words. It was humility, and it bubbled from his heart to his throat; made him finally shake out of his skin, to the point he couldn’t continue as just himself. He spilled over, but Cas moved to his feet and drew Dean near in a bid to comfort him. Tearlessly weeping into the angel’s torso, he held onto the lapels of his coat, then eventually drew his arms around Cas’s waist when a hand went into his hair, gathering the strands and holding him close.

“Yes, okay, okay,” Cas murmured. “I hear you, Dean, I would wait too. I already have—” He paused softly and when Dean inhaled, he tasted ozone. “I’ve hurt you so much—I need you to be safe with me.”

“Cas,” he mumbled into the stiff fabric, “don’t do that now—”

“I know, I’m not. If I deserve what you say, you deserve this as well. I don’t trust us not to pile up transgressions against each other again.”

“No,” Dean agreed. “S’too fragile. I never want to do that again.”

“Right.” Dean turned his face up to see Cas’s eyes were bright with awe, and he shivered when Cas stroked his thumb along his hairline. “So, I don’t see how this intimacy could be safe… Without a guarantee…” 

“Me neither. But we can’t keep turning it off, Cas.”

Cas blinked owlishly. Sensing a change in their mutual understanding, Dean pulled away and pushed a trembling hand through his hair as Cas returned to his armchair and his side, eyes uncertain. The movie continued low in the background. By now, most of the Red Sashes were dead and so were Earp’s brothers; Doc was preparing the final fight. The anticipation for Cas’s line tickled his mouth. He bit his lip.

“I talked to my brother recently. I told him that I’m tired of… _turning_  who I am into something more acceptable.” His heart was skipping at letting out such another deep part of himself. “Do you see that  _we_ do that, too, when we’re around other people? And that we’re damn good at it?”

“I thought it’s what you wanted?” 

“Even if it was, you don’t feel so good doing it. Right?” 

“Admittedly...no.” 

“Well, I don’t either.” 

Cas paused for a long moment, letting that sink in, then he raised his eyes to Dean’s.

“Say we don’t turn it off, even around others,” he said softly. “That solves a problem. But there are other problems.  _Jack._ He may beLucifer’s offspring, but he’s  _my_  son. And he’s not with us.”

Dean closed his eyes as a flash of shame rushed over him. Of course, in the moment he’d forgotten all about that, what the cause of their mission must be doing to  _Cas_. None of Team Free Will or much of the hunters Dean knew were without states of melancholy and depression. 

But Cas wasn’t happy _,_ hadn’t been for a few years now, and it was rightfully so. God, Dean needed to sing his admirations, needed to let all who manipulated him know he was  _loved._

“And even more problems,” Cas continued. “I know now, that with all the bad in the world, goodness is a rare thing. It's hard to find happiness." 

“Come here.” Dean reached for him, slid his hand down his arm to pull his hand into his which fit so nicely, and squeezing his fingers. “I know, Cas. I’m only just better, myself. I’m here, buddy.”

Dean didn’t know if he did, but if Cas willed his heart to beat, he could sense it fluttering as his had only moments ago, because  _this_  was one of the deepest parts of the angel. He held Cas's eyes so that if they didn’t look down, to where skin met and nerves sang, they wouldn’t fall.

“ _Dean,"_ he smiled. “Thank you. What we have is…fragile, as you said. I can’t hurt you again. That can only be guaranteed in a promise, in sight of what’s good. But how could that be, when there is so much bad in the world—much of which we’ve fought and which seeks to use us against each other?”

Dismayed, Dean dropped his head. Cas leaned closer.

“Dean, no… I mean it doesn’t have to be the whole world and it doesn’t have to make sense to the ways of all of this…” Dean raised his head as he gestured above and around them, to the bunker and beyond. “I would stay. But  _we_  wouldn’t be safe. I feel that I can’t rest until the world is set. We deserve that.” 

His jaw was set with his resolve. Dean sensed that maybe he shouldn’t do what he most wanted to do, but as honest as he was being in the moment, he couldn’t stop himself. He slipped his hand out of Cas’s, shifted forward enough to slide his palm along Cas’s jaw, and noticed the shock in his eyes a moment before he kissed him. Cas pressed his lips to Dean's sweetly and softly, so softly at the first, then quickly with a passion that had pleasure sparking in the hunter’s belly. Dean nudged his nose along Cas’s, inhaling the scent of his longing. And he felt the angel’s strong hand land on his forearm, encouraging him closer. He kissed Cas again, fingers skirting behind the angel’s ear, thumb tapping his pulse point, the feel of him so right in his palm. His heart fluttered as Cas’s breath hitched, lips parting under his. Dean had to stop, had to make sure the angel understood. 

“When I touch you again, it’ll be you and me." Cas rolled his cheek along Dean's, pressed a fervent kiss there as the hunter continued. "You’ll come to me and you’ll say, we’re together now.” 

He pulled away, then, returning to sit properly. Castiel was  _almost_ blushing. 

"Okay." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He sighed almost as breathlessly as an angel could, and looked around. His eyes slipped to the TV with some interest. The movie had ended. “I’ll grab us a drink.”

He left so suddenly Dean could only blink at the hallway light pouring in from the open door. He shook his head to himself, frowning slightly at the end credits and trying not to notice his trembling palms. Not one to waste a movie, he rewinded back to the last fifteen minutes, eyes glued to Earp's unwitting resolve to beat the Red Sashes and save the town. When Cas returned with a bottle of Johnny Walker, the angel  _laughed_ at the sheen in his eyes _._

Dean grumbled to him and sniffled, gestured for him to sit down. But Cas didn't.

"I liked spending the afternoon with you, Dean. It was... _good._ " 

Dean offered him a heartbroken smile. "You going back so soon?" 

"I have to..."

"Of course. Mom and Jack." Dean scratched his stubble with his thumb, heartache now focusing on their missing family. "We'll get them back." 

"We will."

He squinted at Castiel. "I'll see you, then?" 

"Until next time." 

Cas took a swig from the bottle then passed it directly to Dean's unprepared hand. He clasped it in time, but Cas's eyes distracted him so he put the bottle on the floor. Cas's eyes were glowing, shining as they took him in one more time, giving him one last smile, before he turned and exited the Dean Cave. Dean's brows rose as he listened to his footsteps fade, feeling the way he did when Cas _loved_ him. 

He picked up the bottle. As he thumbed the lip, he smiled. It was such a stupid thing to be happy about, but Cas had left something for him. 

 _It was a kiss_. 

______________

 

Sam returned later that night with tousled hair and puffy eyes. Dean apprehended him at the foyer and brought him into a brief hug. Sam tensed under him briefly, before relaxing into the hold. 

"Nobody died today, right?" 

"No," Dean snorted. "You alright?" 

"I will be."

"You promise?" 

Sam's only response was only a roll of his eyes at his brother. When he walked off, Dean smiled to himself, and he wouldn't stop until the next case blew in from the front door. 


End file.
